The Pale Path
The count was simple. Four hours since Julian’s arrest. Three strikes on the glass partition. One brother who was no longer speaking. Elias Thorne stood in the white glare of the central command hub, his hands gripping the edge of the steel table until his knuckles turned the color of old bone. He was forty-two, a man built for the cold lines of the border, and he felt the weight of the silence...
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